Over the Edge
by The Desert Stallion
Summary: Something happened then, that the Ring did intend. Takes place going up Caradhras, before the Fellowship is turned back. Combination booksmovies. Slightly AU, because this didn't happen in the books or movies, but it could have. UPDATED and FINISHED
1. Prologue

"'**_This is my last word,' he said in a low voice. 'The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor deliver it to any servant of the Enemy, nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company, … and only then in gravest need.'"_**

_**-Elrond, from The Ring Goes South **_

Frodo let out a startled cry as the snowy mountain gave way beneath his numb feet. Unknowingly, he had stepped on a pile of unstable rocks and small boulders near the mountain's edge, setting off a small avalanche of snow and earth. He stumbled and fell on his face, tumbling head over heels down the path. Just behind him, Legolas thrust out a hand in a desperate grab for the hobbit's coat and missed. He himself neatly sidestepped the tumultuous flow and turned to hold Sam back. Sam in turn stopped the pony, but cried out in fear for his master. Gimli tried to see over Bill's back.

As he rolled and tumbled, Frodo was dimly aware of his danger. His uncontrolled descent was only a few feet from a steep drop-off. His head spun and he grasped for a sturdy handhold. The cold snow squished uselessly between his fingers. "Help!" he yelped.

The avalanche caught up with the rest of the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin let out squeals of terror as they were swept from their feet and plunged down the mountainside. Boromir miraculously managed to keep his footing, and even caught the two young hobbits as they rolled past, stopping their ungainly descent.

"Aragorn!" Legolas called a warning, and the ranger turned to see Frodo nearing the edge. Gandalf, several feet ahead and thus helpless, whirled at the distant muffled shout. His eyes widened in surprise. Aragorn knew only he could help the Ringbearer, so he lunged at the small figure and latched onto anything he could, the hobbit's belt.

As Frodo came to a sudden halt, the most horrible thing happened. He felt the chain slip from his neck and over his head, saw the shining gold and silver float through the air. It happened as if in slow motion, the Ring sailing out over the mountain cliff. "Noooo!" Frodo shrieked as it began to fall.

Gandalf saw the Ring as it flew through the air in his direction, and had less than a second to agonize over his decision. Attempt to catch the Ring and risk a falling death, or let the Ring possibly be lost to the Fellowship? As it began its descent, he made his choice, and leapt after it, hand outstretched. The Ring almost seemed to hover there, as if it wanted him to catch it.

He realized with horror, perhaps it did. Too late! His fingers reflexively closed in a tight fist around the smooth, cool metal, and time sped up again. He was falling fast now, no time to rue over what he had done. Unconsciously, he curled into a protective ball around the Ring, and disappeared from the others' sight, without a sound.

"Mithrandir!" Legolas gasped in shock as he saw the wizard go over the edge, leaving the gnarled brown staff behind in the snow. The nimble elf scrambled down the steep, slick path and came to an abrupt halt beside Aragorn and Frodo. He peered over the edge and saw nothing but the slowing flow of white powder and a few rocks. "Mithrandir!" he called fearfully, voice trembling. The call echoed back unanswered.

Aragorn slid to his feet in a dreamlike state, pulling Frodo up with him. He turned his white face to the elf. "He's gone," he whispered. Only the elf heard him above the whistling wind. "The Ring, he tried to stop it…" He shook his head to clear his thoughts and picked his way down the path. _The Ring is gone. What does this mean? _He stopped next to Gandalf's staff and knelt beside it, groaning in his heart. _Mithrandir, o Pilgrim Grey, what ill fortune comes upon us now! Not only is the Ring gone, but you as well. Can anyone, even the wisest of the Istari, survive such a fall? Are you somewhere down there buried beneath ten feet of snow, or have you landed on your feet like a cat? And how will we find you? _

A small hand gently brushed his shoulder, and he twisted to receive a weak smile from Frodo. The hobbit was obviously in pain, but in mind and not in body. Tears threatened to fall from his large eyes. _He feels the separation of the Ring, and the loss of Gandalf. Poor little one. It is a burden too great for him to bear. _Aragorn returned the smile.

"Gandalf will be all right, Strider," Frodo assured, his voice thin and barely audible, a mere whisper. "He is a wizard, after all." Frodo's eyes alighted on the staff. "With or without his 'walking stick,' he'll make it by and by. We've got to trust him. He would not have gone after it, if it hadn't been the best choice."

As the other members of the Fellowship crowded closer, Aragorn wanted desperately to believe the shivering hobbit at his side. He noticed everyone's eyes fixed on him; they were looking to him as leader. He sighed. "I know it, Frodo." Yet he didn't. He had seen the look in Gandalf's eyes just before he had jumped. The wizard had been torn in two with indecision. _Not even he foresaw such a small misstep, but one stumble and the whole quest has fallen over the cliff._

Frodo met his eyes and Aragorn saw that he understood the situation. His optimistic words had been for the sake of the others. "Gandalf will be all right, but we must find him and the Ring as soon as possible. Caradhras threatens us with more snow and a dread chill." The temperature was dropping as the minutes passed.

"And that cruel mountain has deprived us of our fire-starter," Gimli snarled up at the peak, glanced down at the wooden staff. "That crazy old wizard had better survive, or I swear, when we find him, I'm going to kill him." His gruff manner hid the choking fear deeper within. The rough-edged dwarf had come to like Gandalf very much, and he refused to consider the darker possibilities.

"Who ever heard of a wizard being put off by an avalanche?" Boromir asked, standing between Merry and Pippin and holding the frightened hobbits close to his sides. Pippin sniffed loudly.

"Don't worry, Master Frodo," Sam still hung back, stroking Bill's velvety nose and comforting both the horse and his master. "He'll show his face again afore too long, I'll warrant. Or we'll find him quick."

A soft chuckle escaped Frodo's lips. "'A wizard is never late,'" he quoted. "'he arrives precisely-'"

"'When he means to,'" Aragorn finished with him, and forced another smile. "Yes, he pulled that line quite often on me, as well. Bless your Sam, but he's right. We **will **find Gandalf, and the Ring. This Fellowship will not be broken, not if I have anything to say about it." For a moment he looked the part of a true King, a grim and determined leader of men. Boromir silently regarded him in this light, and pondered what he saw.

They lingered still in that place, the wind the only sound in their ears. Some hoped against hope that Gandalf might suddenly call up to them. Or that he might suddenly appear, scolding Gimli for picking up his staff. In truth, Gimli collected it half with the expectation that this might happen. He was disappointed then, for nothing happened. Pippin looked close to tears.

Boromir awkwardly broke the silence. "What now, Aragorn?" he joined the big folk closer to the edge. Legolas stood at the very tip, peering into the white haze with mournful intensity, long blond hair whipping about in a stiff cross-breeze. "We must somehow climb down there and recover It," he lowered his voice to exclude the distraught hobbits. "Before the enemy does."

Gimli shuddered. "Aye, and the sooner, the better. Perhaps Gandalf is still alive, but with each passing moment, that chance lessens. If he's hurt, or unconscious…what with this storm brewing."

"Mithrandir cannot be in too much harm," Legolas told the dwarf. "I must believe I would have felt his passing, if he were truly…gone." He could not say 'dead.' "No, he is alive, and we will find him. I cannot say there is a way down from here. The edge is far too steep, even for an elf. I could not see the bottom, for the snow flies too thickly." Indeed, the snow had already covered everyone in a fine dusting.

Gimli brushed off his beard and scowled at the mountain. "Forward or back? The weather seems to worsen as we go on, but there is not a path down for miles if we turn back. Cursed fortune we seem to have. It follows us like an ill-bred mongrel." He eyed the mountain as if he would like to set it on fire with Gandalf's staff.

"A mongrel with fangs, at that," Boromir added, feeling helpless and angry. He prided himself in his leadership abilities, but now he knew not what to do. The admission hurt. _Fangs of indecision. _"You must choose the path, Aragorn. I am not familiar with this place."

"Me neither," Aragorn protested. "I prefer to keep clear of this ill-tempered rock-mound, and have only ever taken one path, this path. If I recall correctly, the ground grows less steep up ahead. Would that I did not have to make this choice, for if I am wrong, we will lose precious time. But I have, and we will go forth." He stood slowly, and set his face to the front.

"We'll go on till we find a route down. Everyone on their feet. Sam, get Bill going. Legolas, I need your eyes up ahead, scouting. Frodo, watch your step." The Fellowship began moving again, Legolas scampering ahead over the snow, Aragorn and Boromir forging a path for the hobbits, and Gimli helping Sam with Bill. Unknown to each other, several struggled with a load of guilt.

_I should have sensed those unstable stones and warned Frodo, _Gimli thought angrily to himself, as he helped Merry over a large rock. Dwarves always felt the nature of stones. What had gone wrong?

_I wasn't at Master Frodo's side to help him, _Sam hid tears of shame in the soft fur of Bill's cheek. '_Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' I didn't lose him; I lost you, Gandalf sir."_

Legolas held in his grief tightly as he walked, searching for a descending path. _I should have caught Frodo in time, but I did not. I missed him. I am a disgrace to elves, and in front of the dwarf, no less. I'm sorry, Mithrandir. I hope your fire has not gone out._

Aragorn grunted as he shoved the snow away with his hands and feet._ I should have remembered the Ring, the way it so easily takes flight. I shouldn't have stopped Frodo so suddenly. Perhaps I shouldn't have even chosen the path of Caradhras. I've failed the Fellowship, Mithrandir. Why must **you **suffer for **my** mistakes? We will find you. _He shoved the snow away with renewed vigor.

Hot tears slid down Frodo's face, landing with small splashes of steam in the snow. He could still see wonderful old Gandalf, leaping out for the Ring, falling out of sight, a look of horror on his face. Frodo had sensed the horror went deeper than a fear of falling. Something was wrong. _It's all my fault. I lost the Ring. I've failed you, dear Gandalf. And Aragorn, and everyone. I lost the Ring. It's gone, and who knows if we will recover it. Have I doomed Middle Earth? _The hobbit felt a great crushing weight on his shoulders, was faintly tempted to walk right on over the edge. _But no, Gandalf would not want that. We cannot give up. But why did I fall?_

Far, far below, the Ring might have chuckled if it heard Frodo's thoughts. As it was, the Ring could only sit within its prison of flesh and bone and revel in the glowing power around it. It had not felt such wonderful power in ages, not since its master. In fact, the signatures were very similar at the most basic of levels. This creature and its master were of the same original make.

Only…This creature wanted to destroy the Ring. It didn't understand that, and in its own strange, horrible way, it became determined to change the creature's mind. It would make him want it. It would change his loathing into desire. It would use him and his wonderful, glorious power. The Ring was unconcerned with the possibility of failure. None had ever managed to resist its mighty pull in the end, not alone and unaided.

TBC?

**Well, what do you folks think so far? Review if you'd like to. I won't mind. Apologies for not updating A Fox Hunt instead, but this story idea got stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. The next update here should come next week. Oh, and even though I've read and reread this story 50 times (not quite, but close), I'm not using a beta reader for it, so please pardon the mistakes that might still be in here. **


	2. Beginning of the Struggle

"_**Yet some things there are that they cannot see, neither alone nor taking counsel together; for to none but himself has Iluvatar revealed all that he has in store, and in every age there come forth things that are new and have no foretelling." **_

_**-Of the Valar, from Ainulindale, The Silmarillion**_

He was surrounded by glorious white, standing on a far green field of flowing grass, a literal ocean of earth that danced in the wake of a delightful wind. A living, breathing, laughing world, and he suddenly laughed with it. He was home! The urge to go running across that perfect plain filled him with joy, and he took several halting steps forward. Thoughts of the Fellowship and the Ring fell from his mind. He looked down over the vast expanse of Valinor, and saw the great city Valmar gleaming like a beacon, drawing his gaze, and then his feet. He could hear the distant cry of the sea-gulls as they wheeled over the water. It would be so good to see everyone again, Manwe, Nienna, and his fellow Maiar.

_Olórin…_ A deep presence filled his mind, and he turned in wonder. The voice fired his longing to be there at his side, serving and learning. Manwe, greatest of the Valar and Olórin's teacher, stood several feet away on the grass, his lighted eyes solemnly regarding the trusted, faithful Maia.

Olórin laughed with joy when he saw Manwe, and dropped to his knees in reverence. "My lord Manwe, it is you! Then I am home? Am I called back over the sea?" _Say it is so, _he silently begged.

Manwe chuckled deeply and pulled Olórin to his feet. _Your joy in the good of life is blessed to see, my dear friend. Would that you might remain, but the will of Iluvatar speaks otherwise. _

Olórin was dismayed. "Then I am to be sent back?"

_You are not truly here, Olórin. You are only dreaming deep in the dreamworld, _Manwe chuckled again at the baffled expression on his servant's face.

Olórin raised an eyebrow. "It seems so real, I had hoped…" He considered the recent events of Middle Earth. Memories flooded back to him, the Ring in the air, his jump to save it, falling into blackness. "Those seem like the dream. The fall, Manwe; it wasn't in the script to my knowledge."

_Nor to mine, Olórin, but all is within the 'script' of Iluvatar. For a reason vague even to the Valar, a great test has been set before you. _

Olórin's heart went cold. He knew now that this was indeed a dream, for had he been in Valinor, he could never have felt fear. "Test? You mean the Ring? My lord, I fear this test greatly. I fear the power of the Ring. Why has this terrible choice been set before me?" He searched the Vala's face. It had to be a joke, but Manwe rarely, if ever joked. Olórin had learned his sense of humor from others.

Manwe shook his head. _No joke, my friend. The test is laid before you, and you will have to make a choice. A hard choice, but I trust you Olórin. You are the wisest of the Maiar. I trust you will make the right choice._

"I don't feel wise, Master," the truthful statement tumbled out with force. "I do not know what will happen, if the test will be too great for me. I told Frodo it would be so. I cannot say my feelings have changed immensely."

_Ah, Frodo, the Ringbearer, _Manwe recalled. _He trusts you as well, and the rest of them, mortals and elves alike. You may not know, even I may not know, but Iluvatar knows. Let this comfort you. _

The Maia bowed his head. Inside, he was comforted, but not by much. Before being sent to Middle Earth, he would never have doubted. Ever since he had walked as an old wizard in man's form, doubts had endlessly gnawed at him. His flesh and blood body was not so confident. He knew fear, pain, betrayal now, the lust for power, the abhorred pride. And now he was to be tested with the Ring, his greatest weakness?

Manwe watched his servant struggling to accept this information. _Peace to you, Olórin. It pains me to see you so despondent. The true Olórin will come in the end, of depthless joy and laughter and compassion. Even a sword must be passed through the fire in order to become stronger. Perhaps more than once, but each time refines it. Remember this, Olórin. _The Vala seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sun, as if he were fading. In fact, the whole of Valinor was darkening, and Olórin felt himself pulling away. He had no wish to return, and clutched tightly to the dream.

"Please, I don't really want to go back. Can't Aragorn lead them?" He asked the shadowy form of Manwe.

_The king is not yet ready to lead, and your task is far from over. Remember, Olórin, they need you still. We will always be waiting here for you, but it is not yet time. Farewell, dear one…_ Manwe slipped from his vision, along with the rest of Valinor, and Olórin found himself sinking into the quiet darkness once again. He did not struggle anymore, now that he knew what he must do.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He was cold, awfully cold. It was all around him, up his sleeves and in his beard, pressed against his face-cold, sticky, and wet. _Nasty… _He had to get up, or freeze. Slowly, one eye pried itself open and peered out. The ancient blue gaze saw white, and nothing else. _I'm lying in snow then. _A soft groan split the silence of the air as he painfully lifted his head. The white snow reflected the sunlight directly at him, making him squint.

In the quiet that followed, the fuzzy shapes began to take form, snow drifts, boulders, scrub brushes, an occasional tree. The sun was past overhead, on its way down for the afternoon. He was lying on his front in a large chasm of Caradhras. Steep, sheer cliffs rose on both sides, a score of feet from his prone and aching body.

The air was so quiet. Down here there was no whistling wind or other voices. _Other voices._ It began to come back to him, the Quest and the Fellowship. He had fallen from the trail.

Without thinking, he struggled to sit up, and put his weight on his left arm. The wrist burned with a sudden fire, and he hissed a sharp intake of breath, pulling the arm up against his chest. Such biting pain! He wondered if it were broken or sprained, knew he needed a splint at the least. Carefully he sat up and pulled his thoughts together. _I am still alive, bless the Valar; I don't know how I escaped such a fall with only an injured wrist._ He tentatively stretched out each remaining appendage, one after another, and found with relief that they all worked. _Thank Manwe for that miracle. _His head was a bit sore; it felt like a dwarf pounding his hammer in a forge.

A small trouble though, compared to his other predicament. He gazed up, and up…and up. The cliffs seemed to have no end, but snow swirled about a few hundred feet up, obscuring the walls. He had come from up there? The walls were angled but too steep to climb, especially one-handed. _I will have to go forward then, or back. _The trail down the mountain looked more perilous when he turned to inspect it. It narrowed greatly, a broken path overhung with loose boulders. _Forward it is, then. What I wouldn't give for some Longbottom leaf, and my staff. _He couldn't use his pipe without tobacco, and his staff lay on the upper trail, with the Fellowship. _I hope someone sensible is taking care of it, and not Peregrine Took. _His hat lay in the snow beside him, and he donned it once again.

He almost stood, and then realized his right hand was still clenched in a tight fist, numb and unresponsive with cold. Within, he could feel the cool metal band, and he forced his hand open. Yes, he had caught it all right; remorse shot through him, as remnants of his dream resurfaced. _A test, Olórin…I do not know…Iluvatar knows…a test…pass through the fire…_Gandalf squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear slid down his worn face. _Why was it only a dream? Why could I not have gone back? Why must I be tested so? _There was no answer.

The Ring shone brightly in his open palm. Gleaming gold glittered up at him, whispering promises, of power, freedom, safety…The Grey Wizard stared at it, mesmerized as doubts began afresh, poking him like so many painful knives. _This Ring is in my grasp. I could right so many wrongs. Is it wrong for me to use it? _He jerked in horror as he processed his thoughts. _NO! I cannot. It **is** wrong. It must be destroyed. I must get this back to Frodo, as soon as possible. _

He forced himself to look away in a small victory. He was appalled at the strength of the Ring's pull. _More power, greater temptation. That's why Frodo was chosen, an innocent, young and powerless, but so much stronger than even the Maiar. Poor Curumo, did he even try to resist?_

Saruman had fallen; Gandalf could not afford to do so. He had to resist, if the Valar would give him the strength. He stood up, brushing the snow from his heavy grey robes with his good hand. He reluctantly slid the Ring into his empty tobacco pouch (he'd run out of leaf several days ago) and pulled the drawstrings tightly shut. _Don't open it again, _he warned himself. _Or you may not be able to resist. _

"Now for a way out," he gravely told a nearby scrub tree. "The forward path will be my path. I do wonder if Aragorn chose the same. Along the way, I shall look for a suitable stick with which to make a splint. You, my dear friend, are too spindly."

As Gandalf the Grey wearily limped forward, the Ring sat, patiently plotting its next attack. It was pleased with the initial introduction. Doubts had been renewed in the creature's mind. The part of Sauron in the Ring had finally recognized the wizard as Olórin, a fellow Maia. Olórin had always been known for his loyalty, mercy, and mirth, as well as wisdom. The way to his heart was through pity. Olórin cared for others far too much; it would eventually be his downfall.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Are you all right, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked for the tenth time in the hour. The snow storm had been steadily growing in power, and the Fellowship had stopped to catch its breath. Huddled in a tight circle to conserve warmth, the eight walkers sat in gloomy silence.

Frodo gave Sam a tremulous smile. "It abandoned me, Sam. Can you believe it? It just up and left…I couldn't stop it." There was a dazed look in his eyes. Sam patted his shoulder.

"There, there now, Mister Frodo. We'll get it back, and Mister Gandalf too. He is a wizard, and wizards are infamous for getting out of tight spots. Remember Mr. Bilbo's tale about the orcs and the flaming trees?" Sam chuckled at the mental image of grave old Gandalf stuck in a tree.

His laughter was infectious, and Frodo joined in, earning puzzled looks from the others. Sam told the story and soon all were smiling. "Gandalf certainly makes good use of the eagles," Frodo admitted. "Made…No, still makes. He's alive."

"He is alive," Strider said confidently. "We're going to find him. Stick close for now, and share your warmth. This wind carries a fell chill…" he trailed off.

"Almost unnatural," Legolas whispered beside him, too quietly for the others to hear. "I do not like this turn of events, Aragorn. I feel the Enemy is moving. I fear for Mithrandir." He shook a fine layer of snow from his shoulders.

"So do I, but do not speak of this before the little ones. They are frightened enough." Aragorn sighed deeply, and Boromir turned towards him in alarm.

"Do you mean then that the Grey Pilgrim might take the-"

"Hush, he will not," Aragorn's eyes were hard steel. "He may be tempted, but he will not. Speak not such evil here."

"How do you know? We all know-the temptation is strong," Boromir's eyes took on a strange gleam. "And would it be so terrible if he did? Victory would finally be assured. Gondor would be safe." His voice grew passionate. "I see no folly in fighting fire with fire."

Legolas pierced him with a stern elven glare. "Nothing is safe when the Ring is wielded," he replied heatedly. "Mithrandir knows this."

"He knows, but does he believe it? I know what you say, but is it the truth?" Boromir pressed. Aragorn joined Legolas in glaring at the Steward's firstborn.

"Leave off this fruitless argument," he ordered, and did not notice when Boromir rankled under his command. The hobbits looked up in surprise at his sharp tones, and Pippin leaned forward. The young tweenager was worried.

"What's wrong, Strider?"

Aragorn forced a smile. "Nothing, Pippin. We were only discussing the storm. The temperature is dropping."

_The storm of the Ring, _Frodo realized. _They worry for Gandalf and the Quest, I can see it in their eyes, but they would not have us worry. And the temperature is dropping; everyone is on edge, snappish, cold inside. I feel empty and aching inside. The Ring is gone. _His thoughts ran franticly over and over in his curly head. "Perhaps we should go on, to find a better shelter for the night?" he called over the howling wind.

"Will the shelters grow better or worse?" Gimli wondered, fingering Gandalf's staff and staring up at the sky. "This mountain grumbles at us. We are not wanted. Yet Frodo is right; we will freeze if we remain."

_Thank you, Gimli,_ Frodo accepted the dwarf's hand and pulled himself up. The big folks rose and helped the hobbits, but their icy gazes to each other were as cold as the falling snow. Frodo hated the dissonance that the Ring created, and was helpless to stop it. With Legolas leading the way, they resumed their trudge through the snow. The storm grew steadily worse.

**Thanks for reading again; drop a review if you'd like to and tell me how I'm doing. Apologies for the strange methods to break up the chapters. This site and my story have differing opinions on how to do so. **

**I'm going to try something a little different and review my reviews, so…**

**Dear MaryRose Brandybuck---Thanks for the kind review, and being interested in more. I do intend to continue the story, but the mistake you pointed out isn't really a mistake at all. The Istari were Maiar sent to Middle Earth to indirectly combat Sauron. Gandalf, or Olórin, was known as the wisest of the Maiar. He is a Maia, just like Sauron. I've done as much research on Gandalf as one possibly can, from the Silmarillion to the Hobbit to the Lord of the Rings, to all those other books that are pure notes by Tolkien. There's not a lot on Gandalf out there, but it's a fact that he is a Maia. Like the Ring thinks at the end, Gandalf and Sauron are of the same original make. Sauron was originally a Maia under Aule, and Gandalf was under Manwe and Varda.** **Again though, thanks much for the review.**

**Dear Julestripe---Thanks for the encouragement to continue. I hope you've liked the latest installment. **

**Dear Foo---Evil Gandalf? I've entertained the idea for some time, but who knows? I've actually considered making two versions of this story…**


	3. Choices and Wavering

"'_**Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity and mercy: not to strike without need… Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.'"**_

_**-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past**_

The wind grew ever more bitter as the Fellowship plowed on. In a short time of traveling, the sky had darkened; night was almost upon them. Aragorn decided to stop when they found a cave in the mountain's wall. He explained, "It would be dangerous to continue in the dark. The cliff's edge is uneven, and more of us might follow Gandalf sooner than we'd like. We make camp here."

His orders came not a moment too soon, because further back in the line, Pippin dropped into the snow like a flour sack. Gimli hurried to his side and propped the unconscious hobbit up. The dwarf shook his head in consternation. "He's overcome with the cold, Aragorn. His hands are icy. We _must_ warm him up." His keen gaze took in the other hobbits and he saw that they too, were near to collapsing. "Boromir, help me get them into the cave."

The frozen Fellowship stumbled, exhausted, into the small shelter. Aragorn strode to the back of the cave and examined it. He came up against a solid sheet of rock not far in, and nodded sharply in satisfaction. "The cave is shallow, but isolated. We will not have to worry about watching our backs tonight." He moved over to Sam and Bill, and began to unload the bundles of firewood they had packed.

Gimli took several bundles from him, arranged them in careful formation, and pulled out his flint. He struck it time and time again, but the sparks would not catch in the wood. The wind whipped around the cave's entrance and carried away each small flame. He huffed, then leaned closer to his hand in an attempt to shield it. Behind him, the rest of the Fellowship waited nervously.

"I wish Gandalf were here," Gimli puffed gently at the small twig in his hand, but the burning coal died. "A staff without a wizard is of little use." He glanced at the hobbits. Pippin sat in the middle, wrapped in the spare blanket and Boromir's overcoat, but he was still shivering violently. For some reason, the young Took was very susceptible to cold. The dwarf shook his head and returned to his efforts at building a fire.

Legolas left the others huddled together and crouched beside Gimli; he was the best off in terms of temperature, regarding it as a firm chill, but nothing more. Gimli snarled silently at the elf. _That haughty creature must flaunt his immortal blessings before us less fortunate mortals. _Gimli struck his flint with a vengeance. Nothing happened. _It's the cursed elf at my side. They're unlucky to have close by. _"Why don't you make yourself useful somewhere else, elf?" he grumbled.

When he looked up, he was surprised at what he saw. Was that…shame, on the elf's face? "I have already tried making a fire," Legolas admitted quietly. "It is beyond my skill to do so."

_Pippin's condition must be distracting him. He's admitting that he can't do everything! _Gimli almost rejoiced, then frowned. _Not good. Pippin's freezing. There's no time to gloat over the shortcomings of elves. _He forced himself to say, "There now, laddie, building a fire in this weather is no piece of cake. Even I, a blessed dwarf, am not making headway."

Legolas smiled at being called laddie. "Blessed dwarf? That's not the adjective I would have used. Stunted, perhaps." He easily dodged Gimli's mail-covered fist. Amazing, but the dwarf was grinning at the insult.

"Better to be stunted than stretched out on a rack. I suppose elves have to run around in a rainfall to get wet."

"Better thin than fat, Master Dwarf," he ducked another swing and strode away chuckling, cheered by the conversation.

"I'm not fat!" Gimli snarled at the retreating back. "It's all the layers of clothing that make me look…poofy… Oh, what's the use?" _One cannot argue with a stubborn elf. _He struck his flint again.

The others in the cave were not so cheerful. Frodo held Pippin's hands tightly and marveled at the coldness. "Aragorn, come quickly. Pippin is not warming." Merry paled.

The ranger knelt beside the hobbits and examined the tweenager. "I fear hypothermia may be taking him. We've got to warm him up quickly." He exchanged glances with Boromir, and the man of Gondor nodded at last. Standing, Aragorn moved towards the pony. Sam sensed something amiss and slid to intercept.

He grabbed a silky lock of mane and pulled Bill's head close to his chest. "What are you plannin' to do, Strider? What are you up to?" He noticed the long elven knife in Aragorn's hand, pale and cold in the dusk lighting. "What? No! You can't be thinking to off poor Bill. What has he done?"

Aragorn watched Sam push the pony behind him, and could not help a small smile, but Pippin was in danger. Gimli observed the standoff with faint amusement; his mouth twitched. _Poor laddie. Well, we can't have another morose hobbit on our hands, certainly not with Gandalf missing. No one else could silence complaints with a bristling eyebrow. _He bent over and tried again, this time for brave little Sam.

"Sam," Aragorn started gently. "Sam, Pippin is in danger, and only Bill can help him. His coat is the warmest thing we have here. No one can get a fire started…There's no other way, Sam." The hobbit's face was mournfully long.

Fresh tears fell from Sam's eyes. "Not Bill, he's our friend."

"It's Pippin or Bill, Sam."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Oof!" With a wild scramble that was decidedly un-Maia-like, Gandalf lost his grip on the icy rock and fell back several feet. The large pile of boulders in his path was proving to be a formidable opponent. With only one hand usable, he had already failed several times, slipping and crunching back to the chasm floor. _Oh, for my staff. I could obliterate these stones. _

The dwarf in his head had brothers now, and they were all determined to be the loudest with their hammers. Gandalf lay on his back, staring up into the falling snow, his wrist aching and his heart burning. Every second the Ring called to him.

_Just one look at it won't hurt. Wouldn't you like to hold it again?_

_I would, _he admitted._ But I won't. _He sat up and braced his back with a soft grunt. He was too old for all this. All work and no play; he wished he were back in the Shire, setting off fireworks, watching over the hobbits. Even immortals became tired every great while. No, he couldn't rest, not now, so he struggled to his feet for the fifth time.

_Why?_

_Why what? _He was getting irritated and snappish.

_Why are you afraid to look at it? Afraid of a piece of metal?_

His anger flared and his good hand squeezed the pouch tightly. _No, I am not afraid! _The Ring's accusation had stung his pride deeply, clouding his already muddled mind.

_And why should you be? You are powerful.-I am.- You are. You could touch it if you wished…You could even use it…_The Ring's impatience made it press too quickly and Gandalf reawoke to its wiles. Jerking his hand from the pouch, he passed the trembling appendage over his pale face. A lone pebble dropped somewhere behind him in the canyon.

_I can never use it, for certainly, it would use me. I lied to it. I am afraid, afraid that my desire for power will become too great, afraid that I will be fooled. Let me alone to think, foul Ring. I must get over theses rocks. _He pushed the constant whispering further back in his head. It was not an easy task; even in that frigid place, he felt sweat beading on his forehead. _Less than a day since I fell, and it is sorely tempting me. I had to go after it; there was very great need._

The silence around him only made it worse. There were few or no distractions for his mind, no foolish hobbits pulling stunts, no dwarves and elves arguing heatedly, no ranger sharing the load of leadership. He was alone, utterly alone with the Ring.

_Alone with the Ring. Now is your chance. _

"No!" he shouted aloud, his voice echoing down the canyon. He should set it aside, and come back for it with the Fellowship. It was gaining too strong a hold over him; the temptation would lessen. Fingers numb with the cold fumbled with the pouch, untying it from the belt. A long arm stretched out and lowered the crushing burden over the surface of a smooth flat boulder. Gandalf dropped the pouch.

No…He did not. His fingers would not obey him and a strange reluctance filled his mind. _We toy with the idea of giving it up, but we never do…_Unconsciously, he pulled the Ring back against him, shuddering with self-loathing. _Too long I have held it, too long. I am too powerful; there is so much I could do, so much that would turn to evil if I did. _He desperately wanted to toss the burning circle from his hand, leave it lying useless in the snow.

Yet if he left it behind, the Enemy's servants might find it and sweep it away on foul wings, back to the Dark Lord's hand. His only choice was to keep the Ring and safeguard it. Gandalf absently wondered if this thought stemmed from his own mind or the Ring. The two voices ran together at times. _Who will safeguard it from me?_

Too late to wonder, he admitted he could not abandon the Ring for several reasons. With a mournful sigh, the Grey Pilgrim tied the pouch to his belt again and returned his attention to the rocks. The Ring was quieter now; its danger was past and its hold on the weary wizard had tightened.

The Maia stood in contemplative silence, pondering his next move. The jagged rocks were slick with ice, and would never yield a proper handhold. The cliffs were high on both sides. He had no rope or staff…perhaps his belt. He could wedge the buckle between several stones and pull himself up. Gandalf laughed at the simplicity of his plan. _For centuries have I walked this earth, and yet sometimes I can be slower than the average hobbit. _

He transferred the pouch and its troublesome content from his belt to the inside of his dirty gray shirt, (shivering at the closeness of the Ring), then removed the tough leather belt. To his dismay, he discovered it was too short, and would not reach high enough to catch on anything. Fine then, he would add his overcoat to the mix. Laying Glamdring down in the snow, he shrugged out of the long cloak, hunched down on the ground, and began tearing it into long strips. The wind howled overhead and the cold seeped into his bones, but he shook it off. A mere mountain would not stop Gandalf the Grey. He tied the cloak to the belt with his strongest knots.

Behind him, there came the distinct sound of a twig snapping, and the wizard whirled about, sharp blue eyes piercing into the darkness. Nothing moved; no monster came to claim the Ring. Gandalf listened for several minutes, then relaxed his watch. He stood up and approached the rocks, searching for a cleft of perfect size.

He finally spotted a jagged crack near the top, sighed in relief. As he prepared to toss his belt, the quiet chasm exploded in a hoarse shriek. A small but powerful shape flew from the shadows and slammed into Gandalf's back. He stumbled. Long viselike fingers closed around the wizard's throat and squeezed tightly.

Gasping for breath, Gandalf pulled at the slimy hands. He lost his footing, swayed, and fell to the ground. They rolled over and over in the flying snow, and the air was filled with angry howls and strangled cries. Gandalf jabbed an elbow into the thin torso and the creature loosened its hold, snarling. He pried its vise grip off, greedily sucked in the much needed air. Not for the last time, he wished for his staff. Where was Glamdring?

He saw the Elvish blade lying several feet from his leg, glinting in the rising moonlight. Summoning his strength, Gandalf flung the wiry beast away and lunged for the weapon. The creature scrambled back in determination; its massive eyes gleamed with malicious intent. It caught the wizard by his injured arm just before he reached the sword, and brutally pulled.

Bright flashes filled Gandalf's vision as waves of agony raced up his arm. A rabid anger took over him then, something he had never felt before in such intensity…it felt good. His face darkened and he boxed the creature's ears. It squealed in pain, releasing him to clutch its head. Using his good arm, and getting angrier by the second, he threw the animal so hard that it soared through the air and met with the cliff's wall. Gandalf scooped up Glamdring and unsheathed the blade. He strode over to the whimpering ball, reached down, and pulled its head up by its remaining strands of greasy hair. The blade hovered at his enemy's throat. It squealed and hissed and cried.

"Don't hurts us, no precious, we didn't mean it! We were only hungry, hungry! Oh! It hurts us!" It pawed the air as it hung there writhing in his grip.

_Kill it. It attacked you. Kill it! Slay it! Make it suffer. _A horrible voice roared in the wizard's head, giving tongue to the boiling rage within. The sharp edge of Glamdring grazed the creature's throat. A small drop of blood trickled down its neck. _Make it suffer. It doesn't deserve to live. _He finally knew the voice, found the source of the anger. The Ring wanted blood. He wanted blood. _No, I do not. It is the Ring, not me._

_It asks for mercy, _he protested at last. The blade wavered.

_It doesn't deserve to live. Kill it! _The Ring pressed.

_That is not for me to decide,_ Gandalf decided finally as he stared down at Gollum, for Gollum it was, and could be no other. Gandalf had known the Fellowship was being followed by the slimy thing. He sighed deeply and released Gollum, but kept the sword trained on its quivering body. As the former hobbit lay sobbing on the earth before him, pity crept back into Gandalf's heart. _I see now, what he has been through, what the Ring does to its bearer. He is not entirely at fault here. _

Gollum groveled in the cold snow at Gandalf's booted feet. "Spares us, we begs you, don't kill us. We are sorry," it moaned, stark fear in its once deadly eyes.

"You are spared, unless you try such a foolish thing again," Gandalf sternly admonished, his eyes burning into the pitiful wretch before him. Gollum looked up in surprise at his voice. "Yes, we've met before, some time ago. You remember in that dark mind of yours."

Gollum squealed and shrank back further. "The wizard, the nasty tricksy wizard, what threatened us with fire! We're sorry precious, we didn't know you, but we were hungry, we were…So hungry." It blinked at him; a wondering sly look entered its eyes. "But the wizard's staff is gone. He lost it, did he precious? And why?"

'Tis none of your business," Gandalf rumbled and leaned closer to Gollum. "A staff is a staff, a walking stick and nothing more. The power is here," he tapped his chest and did not feel badly about lying to the treacherous creature. After all, the power was really of him; he only needed the staff to use his power. Gollum feared power of any kind, and he could use such fear.

The frightening gleam in the wizard's eye convinced Gollum, and it crumpled to the ground again in mortal terror. "Don't hurts us, please no. Let us go, precious, let us go and we won't come back."

"I could use you in the morning Gollum, for some sticky footed work. If you help me, and remember who I am, I will spare you. But beware the wrath of a wizard," Gandalf warned. "I can be easily angered." _More so than I wish._ Gollum was sufficiently cowed; Gandalf sheathed Glamdring and peered up into the sky. Night had fallen silently upon them. _I should rest here and wait for daylight. If I can get a fire going, it should be warm enough to rest._

He left Gollum where it lay and moved about collecting sticks and sometimes whole bushes, dried and crispy. Once the unnatural anger had passed, his arm began hurting again, and he grumbled to himself as he moved. Always, he kept one eye on the spindly form in the snow.

Gollum watched the wizard build a small fire close to a protective niche in the rocks. It watched as he clumsily attempted to start the fire with a flint. The pale-green eyes glowed, wondering as they beheld him crouched there.

Gandalf felt the eyes on him, but did not turn. He finally coaxed a small spark into tasting a branch, and flames licked up. _I must learn to be less dependent on my staff, _he realized, observed with relief when the fire did not go out. He leaned back against the wall, drawing his robes closer to his skin. His good hand remained on the hilt of his sword. _I pity him, but I do not trust him. _

The fire's heat spread out in a delightful circle, warming him, comforting. He saw Gollum crawl over to the edge of the light, shivering and muttering with the cold. _Let it sit there, _something told him. _Why should you feel anything for it? _The wretched thing was plainly freezing. It was colder tonight than ever before on Caradhras, and Gandalf hoped the Fellowship had found shelter.

"If you wish to warm yourself, go ahead," he offered, giving in to his pity once more. _Nienna would be proud. _Gollum snuffled and eyed him with suspicion.

"Why's it so nice, precious? A tricksy wizard, tricksy tricksy…"

"There is no trick in my offer," Gandalf sighed. "It will get very cold tonight, that's all." He huddled deeper in his robes, felt the altogether different warmth at his chest, warmth of the Ring. If anything, he wanted to keep Gollum in sight. An unseen Gollum was a dangerous Gollum. "Do as you wish."

Gollum scowled and slid closer to the fire. His eyes never left the Maia. "No trickses then," he whispered as he crouched on the other side of the crackling flames. They sat in silence for sometime, and Gandalf's eyes were drifting shut with weariness, when Gollum spoke up again. "Why's it alone, precious?" The spidery voice crawled to the wizard's ears, grating, hooded, cautious. "Nine of them, there was precious, and now only eight above. One lies far from eight, it does…"

"I fell over the edge," Gandalf explained, more to quiet Gollum than feed its curiosity. Silence prevailed again. Somewhere a wolf howled, long and lonely. Glowing eyes blinked across the fire.

"We sees that, but why? Are wizards so clumsy?" Gollum chuckled in his throat, ended up coughing and choking. "_Gollum, Gollum._"

Its probing made Gandalf unnaturally nervous, and he snapped, "Not clumsy, foul creature. Foolish maybe, for ever coming here!" A cloud lifted and left him feeling confused. Gollum was recoiling from him. _Where did that come from? _His heart sank. _The Ring, where else? Not already…May the Valar have mercy on me._ "Let me alone to think, Gollum. I will have need of you in the morning."

Gollum snorted, but quieted, curling into a tight ball. As his eyes remained on guard, the wizard's mind began to wander to that blessed land of dreams…

**Notes: The matter of Gollum following the Fellowship is a little confusing. The book doesn't clearly state how long he followed them; the movie says 3 days once they were in Moria. So, since this is slightly AU, or largely ;) I have him following them up Caradhras. **

**Sorry I couldn't get this typed up faster. Definitely my longest chapter so far. Again, no beta this round, so my apologies for any mistakes. Hopefully, next week will be the next update. Enjoy, and drop a review. **

**Julestripe: Again, thanks much for the encouraging review. If you find something wrong with it, please feel free to tell me. I wouldn't want to be getting something wrong with the characters, etc. Hope you like this next installment. **


	4. Close Calls and Realization

"_**I endured him as long as I could, but the truth was desperately important, and in the end I had to be harsh. I put the fear of fire on him, and wrung the true story out of him, bit by bit, together with much sniveling and snarling."**_

_**-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past**_

"Not my dear Bill," Sam no longer tried to hide his tears. He could see Strider's point, as horrible as it was. He hugged the complacent, unaware pony, who had pulled his head free and was cheerfully cropping the snow for a drink. "Bill, lad, you're needed for a job that no one else can do, you brave old pony. I hope there's a big green pasture out there, wherever you're going," he whispered brokenly. Frodo watched with sympathy from where he sat huddled against Pippin.

Aragorn patted Sam's shoulder. "His sacrifice will not be forgotten, Sam. Here now, hand me his reins." Sam did so, then trudged quickly away, his face a mournful mask. Aragorn lifted the knife over Bill's forelock and pulled his hand back for the swing. Sam averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bill," Aragorn apologized, and brought the knife down.

"Hold! Aragorn!" Gimli's voice roared out at the same time, and Bill reared back, startled. The sharp blade whistled by his whiskery nose, cutting nothing but the cold air. Aragorn struggled to calm Bill and received the pony's most reproachful stare. The ranger turned to Gimli with raised eyebrows.

The dwarf was kneeling by a small fire that steadily grew stronger. Its flames snapped merrily upwards. A tired grin flickered across Aragorn's face; he bowed in defeat. "It appears your skin has been saved by Master Gimli," he told the pony. Relinquishing the reins to a grateful and overjoyed Sam, he hurried to Pippin's side. The youngest hobbit was scooped up and deposited by the fire, and joined there by the rest of the Fellowship.

As the heat licked out to envelope Pippin, color returned to his cheeks. Everyone sighed in relief when he opened his eyes. "Wha-what's going on?" he asked faintly, and was met by hearty chuckles.

"You and Bill have just had a rather close shave," Boromir explained.

"But, I don't shave," Pippin hadn't completely gathered his wits yet. "Brr-it's cold. I don't remember stopping to make camp."

"Silly Pip, that's because you weren't awake," Merry laughed. He was as overjoyed as Sam. "You passed out."

Pippin's face fell. "Oh, did we stop because of me? I've passed back in now, so we can go on," he tried to stand up, but was firmly held in place. He looked up in confusion.

"We are going nowhere, Master Peregrine," Gimli spoke for them all. "Aragorn called a halt to our walk just before you succumbed to the cold. It is night now, and would be perilous to travel such a trail in the dark." As he spoke, he fed the fire with a steady flow of branches. The wind howled and railed against the flames, but they were established now.

"Gimli is right," Aragorn agreed. "For now, rest. We move again at first light. The Big Folk will take the watches tonight." He waved off the hobbits' protests.

"And I will take the first," Legolas rose swiftly and left the shallow cave. Aragorn sensed that the elf was tense, troubled about something, so he followed him out. Legolas stood at the edge of the trail staring down into the inky blackness. Snow swirled around their feet, restless webs of white powder, reflecting the moon's dim light.

"What do you see, mellon?" Aragorn quietly asked. "What troubles you so?"

"It is not what my eyes see that troubles me," the elf whispered, barely audible above the wind, "but what my ears heard and my heart felt. Not but a small space of time has passed since I heard it, or thought I did."

"What did you hear?"

Legolas shrugged. "A distant cry, a fell voice carried by the wind, or maybe it was the wind. A shriek, more like a hunting beast. Almost it seemed familiar," Legolas narrowed his eyes. "I cannot say what it was, and I know not if I truly heard it, for the wind in these rocks might play a cruel trick." He turned his gaze on the ranger, and his fair elven face darkened. "The shadow over my heart was not imagined, Aragorn. I felt _his _presence, not far away. It passed from here before long…still…" he trailed off.

_The Ring. _Aragorn feared greatly for Gandalf now. If their guide was still alive, he would be faced with the Ring. If he were dead, the Ring would be left open to the Enemy's clutches. _Poor Mithrandir. _"He is stronger than the shadow, Legolas. We must trust him. And I had better get some rest as well. Goodnight, Legolas, wake me for my shift," he returned to the crackling fire and sank down beside the already snoozing hobbits. Only hobbits could sleep on a night like this. Boromir sat nearby, whittling on a stick; Gimli tended the fire. Rest evaded the ranger as well, and he found his mind racing with fearful thoughts. He desperately missed Gandalf.

oooooooooooooooooo

"Frodo, my lad, up, up! Time for breakfast." Bilbo shook the younger hobbit. "Another morning, and we've a lot of traveling to do."

"Oh, Bilbo, just let me sleep," Frodo muttered. The shaking intensified. "It's too cold to get up…" He blearily opened his eyes and became aware of his surroundings. "Bilbo," aka Gimli, stared down at him, smiling through his beard. It was so bright out, and the sun was only beginning to poke her head up.

"I'm not Bilbo, laddie," the dwarf chuckled. "But will you get up anyway? We've got you some dried meat for breakfast. It's not mushrooms, but it will have to do."

Frodo's senses cleared at the mention of his favorite food, and he sat up. The Fellowship was moving, covering up the black remains of the fire, loading Bill, and eating breakfast. He paused. "How did you know about mushrooms?" He shielded his eyes against the rising sun. They had not had a clear day since the ascent of Caradhras.

"My father Gloin had a few discussions with Bilbo," Gimli smiled, "on his first adventure. He said if hobbits don't mention mushrooms at least once a day, they're probably sick." The dwarf and hobbit laughed together.

"He's very right," Frodo accepted the meat from Gimli and bit off a large bite. The stuff was very tough to eat, but he was surprisingly hungry. Salted pork was the official title, Gimli told him. "Thank you Gimli, for the fire last night. Sam will be forever grateful." The dwarf ducked his head, embarrassed at the praise, waved off the comment. Frodo grinned.

He stood up and went to help the others, when something occurred to him. The chain was missing around his neck. The Ring! He panicked and hurried back to his bedroll. _No. No! _He tore through the bedding until his mind finally kicked in. _It's with Gandalf, fool. You won't find it here. _He rocked back on his haunches and sighed. The empty feeling in his chest grew.

Aragorn approached everyone with a handful of ashes. "Put this under your eyes," he ordered. "Smear it on well, and we might prevent snow blindness. The sky is clear and the sun is bright, too bright for our eyes."

Merry laughed as he applied his own ashes. "War paint, Pippin, like the Haradrim out of our fairy tale books at home." Boromir rolled his eyes. "I'm ready. Let's go take some scalps." Merry dashed from the cave to join Legolas, Sam, and Bill outside.

Pippin seemed perfectly well recovered from last night and claimed he was more than all right. Boromir steered him outside with a protective hand. Gimli laughed and followed, his axe slung over his shoulder.

"Frodo?" Aragorn laid a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I feel lost, Aragorn, to speak the truth. The Ring is gone and a shadow lay on my heart the moment I realized it." Frodo shuddered. "I long for its touch again, but I don't want it near me. I'm sorry, I'm confusing you." He stared up at the ranger. "I'm empty, like a vase without water and flowers."

"I am sorry this was laid upon you, Frodo," Aragorn offered at last. "Perhaps walking will help. We need to move on." The hobbit nodded and the two ducked out of the cave, into the sunshine to resume their trek.

oooooooooooooooooo

_Snuff…Snuff…_The massive gray wolf bent its great head to sniff at the strange tracks. It could smell humans, dwarves, even an elf, and some unknown smell. Perplexed, it probed deeper into the cave. Horse had been here. Unconsciously, the strong jaws parted and saliva dripped from the red tongue. It was hungry, just like the rest of the pack that lolled about at the cave's entrance.

The pack leader discovered the ashes from a fire, breezed over them unconcerned. It raised its head up and returned to the opening. He snorted at the others and they rose as one, trotting in single file up the trail. Food was up ahead, and not too far away.

oooooooooooooooooo

"So where are you off to, Gollum?" Gandalf asked from his place against the rocks. Gollum had only thought the wizard was sleeping, and was trying to slip away at first light. The wiry creature gasped sharply, startled, and whirled about on all fours. He squinted angrily at Gandalf, but the Maia was unruffled. "I need you this morning."

"We knows," Gollum grunted, and came sliding back to the glowing embers of the fire. "We were hungry, precious. Does the tricksy wizard carry food, does he?" It was as polite as it could be; obviously the fear of Gandalf's wrath still lay upon him. Gollum crept forward until he was crouched at Gandalf's boots. It peered up, blinking the massive eyes hopefully.

"No, I have none," Gandalf told him; revulsion filled him as Gollum drew near, and he pulled his boots away. His words came out sharp, and Gollum cringed on the snowy earth.

"Why's it get angry?" it whimpered. "We's only hungry. No meat since two days, and before that only a small bird, yes precious."

"Small bird?" Gandalf straightened up. "What kind was it? Was it small and black as the night?" He leaned forward and held the shifting Gollum in place with his gaze.

"It was food, precious," Gollum's eyes glazed over and he licked his lips. "Why's it matter what color?"

"Was it black?" The wizard thundered, his well of patience run dry. Gollum shrank down before his growing companion, thoroughly terrified, and hissed the affirmative. _Crebain, spies of Saruman,_ Gandalf suspected. _No bird in its right mind would roost up here. So Saruman is still trying to follow us as well. Does this mean he will attempt to block the Pass? Saruman…_The sadness that once clutched his heart whenever he thought of the renegade Istar, now had turned into faint anger. If Saruman thought he could stop the Ring's destruction…Gandalf's eyes narrowed at that wizard's betrayal. _You have the Ring now, you could stop him easily…_"Leave off!" he snarled aloud, and Gollum looked up.

"What's it talking to, we wonder?"

"Myself." _You of all people might know what I mean by that. _Gandalf grumbled as he stood up and stretched. The sun was beginning to cast great shafts of light over the top of the canyon, piercing down into the darkness around them, driving it away relentlessly. Gandalf was grateful; the Ring's closeness burned him less in the daytime. He covered the fire with snow to hide the ashes. There was no need to help the spies. Then he picked up the belt and strode toward the rocks. Gollum picked his way along behind, muttering.

Gandalf stopped. "This is where I require your services. Your sticky paws will do perfectly. Take this buckle and run it up to that cleft." He indicated the outcropping, Gollum only sniffed.

"What's in it for us, precious? What if we fall from the top? Sticky paws, it says, _hisss…_Slicky ice, we say." He sat in obstinate silence there, and refused to move.

It horrified him that the unnatural anger was beginning to feel familiar, but Gandalf leaned close to the hideous face. There was no time to sweet talk the former hobbit into helping. "Here is why. If you don't, I will not merely put the fear of fire into you, but fire itself. Imagine, a flame that can never be extinguished until your dying day," he whispered dangerously, lowering his voice to a rumble. "It would not be pleasant; if you do what I ask, our debt will be settled." _Would I really do that to him? I should think not…but he doesn't know that. _So he bristled his eyebrows and scowled at Gollum.

Gollum eyed him. Why did wizards have to be so quick to get riled? He tugged the belt from Gandalf's hand and scampered to the rocks. "We're going, precious. We'll do it," he grumbled, and started up, one slippery grip after another. Gandalf watched, and despite himself, felt admiration for the creature's nimbleness. Gollum's hands and feet seemed to wrap themselves around the rocks with ease.

Gandalf secured Glamdring in one flowing fold of his robes as he waited. Then he focused on losing his anger. His temper had never been his finest virtue, but he knew he had to fight it, especially when the Ring enhanced it. The Ring fed on wrath and rash impulse. _Nienna, if you can hear me, please help me to remember your teachings. I need your guidance…_

oooooooooooooooooo

"There it is, Gollum, right of your hand," Gandalf called up from where he waited, hands on his hips. Gollum peered down at the impatient wizard, hissed between his clenched teeth. He wanted something to throttle. He was angry, though he hid it well. They had been led on a wild warg chase, following the tricky wizard instead of Baggins. _Baggins…_His bulbous eyes gleamed with hatred.

The Precious was somewhere up above him, and he was stuck with a fire wielding man, or something like a man. Gollum's senses told him Gandalf was not as he seemed. The old man was dangerous, filled with a dimmed, hidden power. He had easily thrown Gollum away in their brief struggle. _No, we can't throttle him, no wishes to die… we haven't. _

"Gollum, look alive," Gandalf called up again. "You are about to pass it."

Gollum forced a crooked smile to his face. "No precious, we sees it. No fear…" He scrambled over the cold surface and crouched over the rock, slipping the buckle into the cleft. It fit perfectly, just as the wizard had hoped. Gollum almost considered setting Gandalf up for a fall, by misplacing the buckle. Then he remembered the perfectly serious threat. "No fire in ourselves, precious," he muttered softly.

Beneath him, Gandalf grabbed the end of his former cloak with his good hand and began pulling himself up, inch by painful inch. His boots struggled to find purchase in the slick rock face. Gollum heard him gasping softly when he had to use his injured arm. It was sweet music to the malicious creature, and he chuckled low in his throat. _It deserves it, it does, helping Baggins like it did, to take the Precious from us. We hopes it falls. _

His hope was almost fulfilled. With a wild scratching, Gandalf's boots slipped against the rock and he slammed into the wall, but he held on to his makeshift rope. Gollum grunted with disappointment, and settled back to wait. He noticed the wizard suddenly slide his injured hand into the grey robes at his chest, as if searching for something. Gandalf sighed then with evident relief, as he found what he wanted. Gollum was interested in spite of himself, and leaned forward to watch. _What's it got that's so precious, we wonder? _

oooooooooooooooooo

Gandalf had been reassured that the Ring was still with him. That last mighty jolt could have easily knocked the pouch loose from his body. He hung there for a minute to catch his breath, glanced up and saw Gollum observing. _Only a few more feet to go,_ he encouraged himself. The Ring sat silently in its pouch, and for that he was eternally grateful. To have it screaming in his ears would not help the situation. He wondered if having Gollum to talk to made it harder to focus on the Ring's wiles. _If so, he has some part to play indeed…_

He moved higher and higher, until at last he topped the last rock and sat next to his belt. To his surprise, and happiness, the other side did not descend back down. The whole canyon had moved up. Gollum sat beside him, peering intently at the Maia. Its eyes were gleaming with a strange light. Perhaps it was only hunger, but Gandalf felt uneasy. It was time to send this creature on its way.

"Well," he gasped out between ragged breaths, "you have held to your word, Gollum. Now I will hold to mine." He worked the buckle out of the cleft, separated his belt from the strips of cloak, and reattached it around his waist. "You are free to go, back or forward, but I will hold you no longer."

"Why's it let us go, precious? We wouldn't, oh no…" Gollum stared. "It's a trick, trick of a tricksy wizard." _Is tricky the thing's favorite word?_

"You know yourself better than I do, but I am still honoring our agreement." Gandalf regarded him thoughtfully. "And you've yet some part to play, small or great I cannot tell. Something goads me to release you." _Besides the fact that I want you as far from the Ring as possible. _

"Something tells you? Like the precious speaks to us?" Gollum asked. His face for a moment lost the evil snarl, and it became as that of an old hobbit, worn by some horrible burden, but real and sane. Gandalf felt sorry for it then, and he softened his tone.

"Not like that at all, and this Voice speaks only the right, never evil. You would not understand, pitiful one. That Power is beyond your reckoning, and forever will be, I'm afraid. Will you leave now?" He held his hand out to the path.

"We will, precious. Wizard's company is not easily missed," Gollum's eyes were distant, as if remembering a less evil time. His statement was a common notion of most hobbits, even today, and Gandalf almost chuckled. He watched Gollum scramble over the rocks and slide his way back down to the far bottom, then turned his attention to his trail. Gollum would not be likely to return. It had seen only Gandalf the Grey, a foe too powerful. It had not noticed a weakened wizard, or the Ring, he was sure. Gollum would go back to follow the others. _Valar help them now. _

Speaking of the Ring…He pulled the pouch from his shirt and tied it to his belt again, then Glamdring. _The road goes ever on and on, _he thought wearily to himself as he trudged down the icy trail. Just for safety, he kept an eye on the path behind him.

oooooooooooooooooo

Gollum hissed from his perch on the rocks as Gandalf rounded a bend in the trail. He snarled angrily and hit his fists upon the nearest slab. The Precious was with the wizard! He didn't know how, but he knew it was there, burning brightly in that pouch. It called to him so loudly, so strongly. Gollum's mind was not slow; he had seen the familiar look in the wizard's eyes when he reached for the pouch. He recognized an addiction to the Precious.

_Hissss…_ How the Ring had passed from Baggins to Gandalf was not important! It had. No wonder the call had led him on the lower path, away from the Fellowship. "It's ours! He can't have it!" Gollum swiped savagely at the snow. He would throttle the wizard this time, staff or no staff. One on one was better than nine on one; the wizard only thought he was safe. "So wrong, so wrong," Gollum chortled viciously.

He had only been hungry before. Now the Ring called to him. Desire drove the fear from his twisted heart. "It's ours, precious," he hissed in a puff of warm air, and waited, murder written in his face. _We wants it…_His long fingers dug into the rock. Fire no longer mattered; what was fear?

**Well, there's the next chapter. Things are starting to heat up a little. What do ya'll think? Feel free to tell me. Again, no beta besides myself. Thanks for reading. Next update should come in about a week. **

**I don't know how Gollum popped into my story, but I guess every ringbearer seems fated to run into him. Onto my readers…**

**Julestripe: I'm very happy that you keep liking it the more I write. Happy readers make happy writers, but if I go off and do something weird, please don't hesitate to tell me. Hope you enjoyed the latest. **

**Anonymous: hehe, nice name. Thanks much for reviewing, and I'm glad you liked it. Yeah, I like Gandalf very much, so I started writing about him. He's my favorite character off LOTR. And you're right, so very little is written about him, in a favorable light that is. Most people pass him off as being unimportant, or something…Don't be scared to post your stuff. What's the worst that can happen? This site needs more Gandalf stories that don't make him out to be worthless or just an old man. Thanks for the complement too; I'll try to keep up to your expectations. **

**And all you folks out there reading and not reviewing, all I can say is, well…Keep reading. : ) **


	5. Fighting and Temptation

"_**Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me!"**_

_**-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past**_

"Aragorn!" the elf's call echoed around the bend in the trail. Legolas sounded excited, and…happy? Aragorn squished forward as fast as he could, the hobbits giggling at the sight of his hopping and wallowing through the newly fallen, waist-deep snow.

Robbed of his dignity and breath, Aragorn arrived at the elf's side, who stood on a boulder several feet down and off the trail. "What is it, Legolas? What do you see?" he asked with a hasty scan of the horizon, in every direction; but there was nothing extraordinary to see.

His friend smiled. "I am not always far-sighted, mellon. Here," he pointed down at the rock he stood upon. Aragorn squatted beside him and ran a hand over the worn markings. "It is a descending trail," the elf explained. "It has not been used for sometime, and the sign has almost worn completely away."

"A trail down," Aragorn studied the ancient symbols. "If I am right, this says the next trail is not for another league. We do not have the time to go on."

"It will be dangerous," Legolas indicated the faint black diamond by the words. "Do you think the hobbits will be able to do this? And more worrisome, the dwarf?"

Aragorn laughed softly. "He is not as helpless as you would like to think, as all elves would. We men will handle the hobbits, and I think there will be no need to aid Gimli." He could clearly see doubt in the elf's eyes, but the matter was laid to rest.

ooooooooooooooooooo

It played at the edge of his mind and tugged at his thought, ceaseless taunts to his spirit. It was despair, brought on and augmented by the Ring's closeness. Despair for the quest, despair for all of Middle Earth; it told him further struggle was useless, hopeless.

_There is still hope, _he argued half-heartedly. The Fellowship would reunite and they would continue on. Inside, Gandalf was beginning to fear the reunion; would his strength prove strong enough to hand the Ring back to Frodo? Would the Fellowship be made to use force? So soon had the Ring found a dwelling place in his mind. He could not push it out anymore, if he had even tried…

_A fool's hope is all you have, contrived by the greatest fool of all, if you honestly believe it might work. Did you and Elrond think a fellowship of nine might oppose the Dark Lord, and succeed? Do you really think a hobbit can destroy the One Ring?_

_Perhaps, _Gandalf's stubborn side rose to the occasion; besides, the accusation stung. He was not a complete fool. _Hobbits are amazing creatures. They may yet surprise everyone, even the Enemy. _He paused his walking and sat on a rock to catch his breath, coughing as he deeply inhaled the cold air.

_You are a fool. You intend to walk into Mordor, waltz up to mount Doom, and drop the Ring in?_ Well, when it was put that way, it did seem foolish. _Not just foolish, utterly ridiculous, stupid, mad. What are you thinking?_

_You are trying to twist my thoughts, foul tool. It is the only way to destroy it, and we can do nothing less. The Ring must not be allowed to endure, _Gandalf leaned back, weary, so weary. The Ring was right in that the odds were badly stacked against them, but the Valar were so much more than odds, he reminded himself. If they willed it, it would done.

_No? Perhaps not…But your plan has little merit. The Dark Lord will see you eventually, if you come into Mordor, that Great Eye, and he will take the Ring. Back onto his hand it will go, and darkness will cover Middle Earth, lasting blackness. _The Ring chuckled in his mind. _And if he does not take his own, men will. The one called Boromir, he watches it, seeking a way to lay hands upon it. _

_Boromir is a noble son of Gondor,_ Gandalf refuted, but the Ring spoke true. Ever had the Enemy used a grain of truth to spawn his foul lies. Gandalf had seen the gleam in Boromir's eye. The incident a few days ago was convincing. Yet, there was still hope for him; very few were without hope…Sauron, to name one.

_You are desperate to see only what you wish. Pursue this course, and all will come to ruin. A plague of darkness will seep into every home. The White City will become Black. The plains of Rohan will be as the Dead Marshes-_

"Stop!" Gandalf cried aloud, leapt off the rock and hurried up the trail again, one trembling hand pressed to his head. . He wasn't dooming Middle Earth; he was helping it. He was failing….

He was falling…His legs felt like he was wading through mire and mud, and he stumbled to his knees. A flash…Black fire dancing before his eyes in a dark vision; Minis Tirith was burning, everywhere burning, black smoke twisting up in dark sacrifice. Aragorn lay dead on the broken marble floor of the King's Hall, soulless eyes staring up in accusation. Staring at the wizard, blaming.

The stare struck Gandalf to the depths of his heart, but already the White City was fading. Now Lothlorien and Fangorn were falling to axes and orc scimitars; the elves were dying or fleeing to the Grey Havens. Black smoke rose here too. Galadriel was fading, drug under by Sauron's hold on the Three Elven Rings.

Rohan's once-beautiful fields ran red with the blood of men and horses. Shadowfax was here, his white glory dimmed in blood and ash, great black eyes now dull. "No…" Gandalf gasped, staring transfixed at the horrible sights. He tried to remember, they were not real, and yet, they were the future… "No…"

_The dragons will awake again._ The Ring relished in his pain, and sent him yet more images. The dwarves were fleeing the Lonely Mountain, and in their wake the fire-breathing worms flew. The flames consumed everything they touched. A long line of the earth-dwellers moved towards Mordor, chained and enslaved under the whips of the orcs. Gimli walked there, and though his body moved, his eyes were as dead as Aragorn's had been.

_Nothing will be safe from his touch, thanks to you…_Rivendale-the Evenstar lay dying of a broken heart. Elrond sat beside her, the elven ring gone from his hand, hidden only a while, for Sauron could perceive all the Rings of power now. Winter was blowing in from the north.

_This cannot be,_ Gandalf cringed away in horror, his own heart breaking. The scenes were too real to be fake; it was the future he saw. _I will be responsible for this?_ Tears dripped down his ancient face. _Because I will not take the Ring? I cannot do so! It is too dangerous. I will only become as Sauron himself._

_Then you will watch as all you love perishes. Have you no pity? _The Ring taunted.

A final image shimmered before his eyes. The Shire, burning with a white-hot flame, bearing the brunt of the Dark Lord's wrath. The innocent race was helpless and horrified as the orcs came, crushing the last Rangers aside like gnats. A great Eye was burned into every standing door and wall. Hobbits were whipped away to Mordor; more lay dead and dying on their doorsteps. The once-cheerful markets were now host to customers of a different sort-swarms of vultures.

It felt like a spear had been jabbed into the wizard's chest and violently twisted. Not the hobbits, not the innocent hobbits! He had caused this. The Maia groaned and clutched at the real, cold mountainside, wanting out of this horrible vision. His hand squeezed around a sharp rock, and reality came back to him with the pain. He stared at the trickle of blood, thought, _I would gladly give every drop of my own to prevent this… _

_It does not have to turn out this way. We can destroy it, we must, we will. _

_You cannot, heartless worm. You cringe away from the one chance to save Middle Earth. See them? Have you no heart to feel for their plight?_

_It is not…guaranteed that this will come to pass, _Gandalf repeated and struggled to remove the chilling visions.

_It will. You care not for them._

_I do! _

_Then use it…_The Ring changed its tone, becoming softer and more sympathetic. _We show you what is to come, so that you can stop it. You are great and strong, Olorin…_He was distracted by his real name, and the Ring felt his attention focusing on it. _You are strong enough to control the Ring. Only you can prevent this painful end, only you can set things to right again. The others are not great enough, but you, you have no equal…_

_I have no equal…Wait, no. You seek to feed my pride. I will not fall as Saruman did, _Gandalf protested. _I do not want power._

_You lie, I can feel your desire, your wish to become who you were meant to be. The Ring can do that; it can restore you to your true form. You are not an old man, Gandalf, you are Olorin. Let them worship you as a hero, a savior, as a god…_

Gandalf's eyes had closed, and he was falling under the melodious whispering, but at that, Gandalf lifted his head and his mind cleared. His good hand had been reaching for the pouch, wrapping around it, and now he pulled it back. _Do not deceive me. I am no god, only a humble servant of the Valar. They asked me to come to Middle Earth to help, not to seek my own glory. _They had not wanted him to become directly involved with the Ring, perhaps for this very reason. He already feared his choice to leap after it; he could not disobey them and actually claim it. _May the Valar help me turn aside from this evil._

_Evil? The Ring can be used for good. It can help your friends, you can help._

_I do wish to help them, _Gandalf conceded, _and as a Dark Lord, I cannot do that. I do pity them, so I will not take it. The Ring is __**entirely**__ evil. I will not wield it. _"I will not wield it!" he shouted into the wind. The equivalent of a spasm trembled through the Ring, and it snarled at the rejection.

_You will, in the end,_ it turned hateful very quickly. _And you will beg for death, and none will come. It will consume you, and you will not release it. _

"Begone!" Gandalf ordered sharply, and the Ring quieted, but it did not silence. The murmurs continued, whispering, begging, pleading, a background cacophony that would not cease. At least the burning mists had dissipated, and he could see the trail once again.

Gandalf pushed himself to stand with a small groan. Sweat was running down his face, and he wondered at that. He had come perilously close to taking the Ring; there was no spell or wizard's trick to drive such evil away. The Valar had saved him, and he quietly thanked them.

Then he resumed his journey. So preoccupied was he by his narrow escape, that he took no notice of the shadow far behind him, a shadow that was not his own.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Careful there, Master Meriadoc," Boromir lifted a hand to the young hobbit, helping him slide off a large rock. Merry gratefully smiled up at the man and waited for Pippin's arrival. _Those two scamps are inseparable, _Boromir thought with a smile. _Like two brothers I once knew…_That thought had him thinking about Faramir, then Denethor, and his smile morphed into a troubled frown.

Gimli passed by then, and saved him from further rumination on his family. "Will you lend a hand with Bill, laddie?" the dwarf asked. "Sam would nae leave him behind, and he's balking up there."

"Certainly," Boromir helped Pippin down and patted his shoulder. "You two behave, and mind what Ara-Strider says. This is no walk in a meadow."

"Aye-aye, Captain Boromir," Pippin snickered and scrambled over the next rock. His large hobbit feet provided exceptional balance. _What did the wizard say so much? Oh yes, amazing creatures. He was very right. Hobbits are strong and resilient; I didn't think Pippin would recover so quickly. _

Boromir turned away and hauled himself back up the path to where Bill and Sam were contesting wills. The pony laid his ears back and snorted, then planted his hooves against the rock, a pony statue, solid and unmovable. Boromir grinned at the sight. Sam stood, hands on hips, his solemn eyes mere inches from Bill's big blinking ones.

"Please Bill," Sam begged. "It's for your own good."

"One can't easily reason with a mule, Sam," Boromir laughed as he approached. Bill snorted, insulted. Mule indeed! He bared his teeth at the man of Gondor.

"Now Bill!" Sam reproached him. "That's not nice. He only wants to help."

"Sometimes, you must just use force with an animal," Boromir advised, and moved to take Bill's reins. "Come on!" He pulled slowly but insistently. Bill leaned back on his haunches and whinnied through his teeth.

"Mule," Boromir taunted. The taunt worked briefly. Bill lunged forward to take a chunk out of Boromir. His mouth grazed the leather gauntlet. Then Bill remembered his position and went no further, his ears laying back flat. _You won't trick me again, _his expression said.

The descent had been going so well; Boromir sighed. Arriving at the scene, Gimli went around to the back of the pony and planted his gloves on Bill's hindquarters. "You pull, I'll push," he told Boromir. "On three. One-two-three! Ugh!"

The combined strength of man and dwarf forced Bill forward at last. Sam flitted about on the edge of the action, worried. "Don't hurt him! Oh, poor Bill!" He wrung his hands.

"Poor Bill?" Gimli grumbled to Boromir. "Bill's doing perfectly well."

"Yes, it's not Bill that needs help," Boromir agreed, and started. Legolas had appeared at his side silently, his keen eyes watching the pony. "Come to help, Master Elf?" Boromir asked, and hoped not. The holier-than-thou elf grated on his nerves, almost as badly as the dwarf's. Grumpy old Gandalf was better than Legolas. Hah, even Aragorn was better than Legolas, and that was saying much.

"You are no judge of horses," the elf stated. "Or you would see that he is frightened. Something nears. Aragorn!" he called urgently down the mountainside.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

The massive wolf rumbled deep in his chest. Crouched beside him, the pack growled in reply. Their hunger rose to consume them like an angry fire, having not eaten for days. The quarry was spread out on the mountainside, evenly split into two groups. Even now, one of the groups dwindled as a two-legged creature bounded up the hill.

The leader cocked his head, pleased. There was no need to wait for nightfall. He lifted himself from his crouch and stole silently over the snow. The starving pack followed with sure springing and leaping.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn asked when he arrived, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Boromir saw the look given him, and forcefully ignored it. Always Aragorn seemed to suspect him, as if he were an enemy and not a friend. _All throne usurpers are wary, for good reason, though I pose no threat to him. _

"The pony is frightened. Something is out there, and its intentions are most likely foul," Legolas warned.

"Wolves, do you think?" Boromir asked, reaching for his sword.

"Wolves? This far up the mountain?" The elf scoffed with a small chuckle. "I would hardly think-"

"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn cut off the elf. "Boromir may be right. Wolves, if hungry enough, may have tracked us up here. Ready your bow."

Warmth spread through the Steward's son at the unexpected support. _Maybe he's not so bad. Too bad he thinks Gondor needs a king… _"We should bring Frodo and the other two up here, or go down to them. Safety in numbers, you know," he directed this at the elf, and Legolas flushed red at being talked down to.

Gimli chuckled at his expression, in spite of the dire situation. Dwarf and man exchanged mischievous glances. Torturing the elf united them on a common front at times. Legolas glared his coldest, superior elf look he could produce.

"The way you giggle and snort, one might wonder if you were warriors or children," he said calmly, watching as a fire lit in the dwarf's eyes.

"You think-you think you can just-" Gimli sputtered as he gripped his axe. Boromir, still chuckling, reached out to stop him, when a shrill scream rent the air. It came from Bill, who reared up wildly on his hind legs, pawing the air. Aragorn whirled about with his sword drawn. They all gasped.

Seven large, slavering wolves had emerged from the rocks below and were warily circling the three trapped hobbits. Frodo had Sting in his hands, and was protecting Merry and Pippin from the apparent leader of the pack.

"Mister Frodo, no!" Sam grabbed a frying pan from his bundle and stumbled down the mountainside. Aragorn was after him in a heartbeat, then Gimli and Boromir were racing down too. Drawing his long, powerful bow back, Legolas let fly with an arrow.

It flew straight and true toward the alpha leader, but at the last minute he turned and the barb missed his heart. It went into his shoulder and he roared in pain, leapt up the incline, Frodo forgotten, foaming at the mouth. Aragorn met him coming up, and swung his sword hard, yet the grey wolf sprang over his head. The ranger ran on to the hobbits.

Gimli saw the wolf coming his direction and steadied his axe. "Shall I trim those pretty whiskers of yours?" he called with a short, deep laugh. The wolf saw him waiting, and its lips raised in a bristling snarl. It abruptly changed its course, startling the dwarf as it slammed into him, the two colliding heavily into the snow. As they rolled over and over, Gimli grappled for the wolf's vulnerable throat.

The rest of the pack attacked in a starving fury. Two descended and pressed hard against Aragorn. Another fell with a frying pan in its face and Sting in its chest. It yelped and expired violently, gasping in thwarted rage.

Another leapt up and latched onto Boromir's arm; the vambrace kept him safe from the sharp teeth, but he was pulled down to the ground. The last two wolves circled the hobbits, showing their fangs and dodging blows. The sun continued to shine merrily on their dance with death.

The elf had drawn his bow and stood waiting for a clear shot, when his delicate ears heard movement behind him. He whirled in time to see three more wolves jumping down from a high boulder. Legolas managed to kill one before he was buried in an avalanche of fur and claws and teeth.

Aragorn at last gained an advantage, sidestepping a wolf and ramming his sword into its gaping maw. It choked, shuddered, and fell away. Its companion, angered greatly, snapped its powerful jaws onto the Ranger's hand. Aragorn cried out in pain and dropped his sword, attempting to force the grip open. The wolf's feet kicked at his chest.

Boromir flipped his opponent into the snow, then knelt atop the struggling animal. It snarled and nipped at his hands as he put his entire weight on its ribcage. The ribs gave way with an awful crunch, and the creature stilled. Boromir caught up his sword from where it had fallen in the snow and ran to help the elf.

Gimli was in a stalemate with the pack leader, their faces only inches apart. His small, strong hands were wrapped around the furry neck and squeezing as hard as possible. The wolf may have been running out of air, but Gimli was fast losing strength. The dwarf wondered with morbid fascination, who would give out first?

He would never find out. The Mirkwood bow sang, and the leader jerked aside. It sent up a shuddering howl and collapsed. The dwarf pushed it away in disgust. "Should have been mine," he muttered. Legolas appeared above him, scratched and wild-haired, but grinning proudly. "Small chance I'll ever get to forget this…" Gimli sighed.

The two remaining wolves lost all heart for the battle and fled yammering over the mountainside. The Fellowship gathered around the elf and dwarf as Legolas offered his hand to Gimli. The dwarf scowled and pushed the hand aside, clambering to his feet on his own. The frazzled group took stock of their injuries; Aragorn and Boromir were sporting open wounds, but they claimed to be perfectly fine. The hobbits were frightened but unscathed, Legolas was only slightly mussed, and Gimli was only bruised. All in all, they were grateful for their state. It might have been much worse.

Frodo stared down at the still body of the pack leader, his eyes sad. Kneeling down, he passed a small hand through the thick fur. "I don't think they were after the Ring. I felt not what one feels when meeting servants of the Enemy." He sighed. "It seems a shame…"

"Yes, they were only hungry," Aragorn agreed. "Their very ribs were showing on their flanks. It was unfortunate to kill such magnificent animals, for they were not evil. If they had been filled, we would never have seen them, but starvation drove them to chance this fight." He waved a hand over the battlefield, and heard a small hobbit gasp.

"Your hand, Strider," Sam pointed to the oozing blood from the teeth marks. "Are you sure it's all right?"

"He'll be fine, Samwise. We men of Gondor are tougher than we look," Boromir clapped a bitten hand of his own to Sam's shoulder. "Let's just hope they didn't have the Foaming Madness," he chuckled, until he found everyone staring at him. "What?"

"Not humorous, laddie," Gimli rumbled softly. Then it happened.

The wind picked up and carried to them both a wonderful and terrible sound, a loud clear voice like thunder, crackling with lightening, vicious and majestic all at once. The Fellowship stood stricken dumb, as the voice reached their ears. It sounded familiar, and strange…

"That's…That's Gandalf!" Frodo suddenly cried. "He's down the hill! He's alive! Oh, hurry!" He scrambled down the slope like a mad man, slipping and sliding over the icy surfaces, landing in a puff of white powder. Sam took off after his master. The remaining Fellowship was rooted to the ground for all of two seconds. By the action that followed, Bill wondered if a whole mental house had not been loosed, but he remained where he was, calmly assured; they would be back for him.

**Well, after a long dry spell of no inspiration, I finally got the inspiration to finish the next chapter. Again, no beta beyond myself; apologies for any mistakes. What do ya'll think of it? Story should be wrapping up in about two more additions, but I'm considering two different versions. If I get enough time I may do both; until then, enjoy the one. Drop a review anytime. Unlike some zoos, it is permissible to feed the authors. :) **

**Valinor Sunset: Hehe, you'll have to wait and see. He may, because Gollum doesn't seem to want to leave him alone…that little beast. Thanks again for reviewing.**

**Markim: Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you liked it. You'll have to wait and see about meeting up again.**

**Keep reading and preferably reviewing folks. More to come. **


	6. Falling and Living

Chapter 5: Falling and Living

"_**With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly…I dare not take it, even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength."**_

_**-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past**_

Gandalf cocked his head as he heard the distant shuddering howl of a wolf. It came from not too far ahead. Perhaps the Fellowship had run into a pack of wolves. When he strained his all-too-mortal ears, he could catch more faint howls and a higher pitched human cry. Was that one of the hobbits? Encouraged and feeling a hope that had been non-existent for days, the wizard picked up his pace. The hope was driving away the shadow that clung to him, but he could feel the Ring's anger growing. _Yes, you know it is almost over, thank the Valar._

The new hope gave him new energy, and he spryly pulled himself over a rock one-handed; practice made perfect, after all. "I'm coming, my dearest friends," he chuckled into his beard, happier by the second. What danger were wolves compared to a wizard teetering on the edge of madness? Gandalf had just straightened up from hurdling his last obstacle when he became aware of a small cold spindly hand wrapping itself around the handle of Glamdring. He whirled and came face to slimy face with Gollum, surprising and angering the hideous creature.

"It's ours! Our Precious!" Gollum shrieked and backhanded the wizard, sending both of them tumbling over backwards. Gandalf felt him pulling at the sword. Mercy he may have had for Gollum, but Gollum was plainly intending to finish him off. Anger kindled in the Grey Pilgrim, an unnatural strength pouring into him. He shoved Gollum away roughly, but the clammy hands scrabbled for what they could. Chance determined that his hands fell on the pouch.

It leapt away and laughed, more giggled, triumphantly, digging into the pouch and pulling out the shining Ring. "It's ours at last!" Gollum saw Gandalf struggling to his feet and coming at him, and he bounded down the trail.

Inexplicable rage filled the wizard at this sight. The foul thing was taking the Ring away from him! No one dared take his ring! He could feel the Ring pulling at his conscious, begging for him to save it. A voice not his own snarled at Gollum's retreating back. Yanking the elvish blade from its sheath, he hurled it at his fleeing foe.

It was an uncontrolled throw; the hilt, not the blade, connected with Gollum's head. Gollum fell to the ground squealing, the Ring rolling away from his hands. Gandalf felt no twinge of pity as he gazed upon the writhing, groaning fiend. The ungrateful wretch had taken his mercy and thrown it back in his face. In fact, that was all Gandalf ever got from those he helped—ingratitude. A still small voice in the back of his head was warning against this irrational pattern of thought, but Gandalf was in no mood for reason. He was angry, angrier than he had ever been in his time on Middle Earth.

He did not stop to think of the Ring's influence on him as he strode forward. He had never been recognized for his help and guidance. This creature was the face of all the times he had donated his blood and tears and received nothing but contempt in return. Well, that would change. No more looking down on the Grey Pilgrim, no more laughter for the addle-minded wizard who spent too much time with hobbits. He was much greater than that. He could prove it. He _would_ prove it! No more patience with idiots. He would help them and they would get down on their knees and thank him.

The wizard's eyes blazed with white hot fury as he strode by the gasping Gollum. Gollum half rose to stop him, his own bulbous eyes focusing on the Ring. Gandalf reached down with his good hand and gripped Gollum by the few strands of hair he had left and shoved the pitiful wretch against the nearby rocks. Gollum flew through the air and collided roughly with the hard surface. He wailed, but Gandalf never heard him. The wizard was beginning to glow with an unnatural fiery haze. He stretched forth his hand, and the Ring flew through the air to his call. There was no more need for any staff to channel his power. Conscious thought left what was once Gandalf.

Gollum was terrified. The magnificent creature now approaching was not a man or a wizard to his stinging eyes. Greater than any king or beast, as powerful and unchained as the raging ocean, the figure was glowing with a light so dazzling that it hurt Gollum to look at him. A wheel of fire seemed to be in its right hand, and Gollum recognized the raw lure and power of the Ring. He was filled with despair as he watched the two halos merging and growing. It was no longer his Ring. This … frightening apparition was the Master now, and he knew in his twisted, warped mind that if it wished, Gollum would be no more. The being's eyes were flaming orbs of white fire. Gollum cowered down fearfully against the snow and rocks. He was waiting to die.

When the immortal finally spoke, lightening and thunder seemed to lace every word. "Thou foulest of wretches, thy treacherous thoughts are open to me as a book! I would destroy thee for what thou hast attempted here today." It raised the hand of fire to strike. "You seek what is mine. No more!"

Gollum knew he would die.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_It is not mine! Stop it!_ The grey wizard known as Gandalf screamed silently, pushing desperately at the shadows that threatened to strangle him and put him under the Ring's spell forever. An eternity of destruction and pain. He felt like he was watching himself from a far distance. _Such hatred is not of me. This is the Ring's doing. Stop! Manwë, help me! I cannot do this alone._

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Gollum was amazed and did not dare move from his crouch. The mighty being was hesitating. "I should destroy thee," it rumbled. "I desire to destroy thee…and all evil things. I could set things to right. I could stop His pain and anger. I could…I should."

Neither Gollum nor his executioner heard the distant shouts of men and hobbits.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Not through the Ring! _Gandalf cried, staring up at the horrible circle of gold. It beckoned to him with comfortable power, sweet lies of peace and happiness. Never had he wished to believe lies so much! He could make Middle Earth safe again from wicked things like this wretch at his feet. He could destroy every Gollum the world had ever seen. He could topple Sauron's tower, end His reign. The Ring glowed brighter between his fingers. The only way was through the Ring. He should put it on, use it. _No!_

Wavering to him as if he were drowning in the water came a voice, high and clear and fearful. "Gandalf!" It echoed through the turmoil and shadows of his mind, and he felt the Ring recoil at such purity and selfless love. He sensed the presence of the Fellowship. They were almost here. One was calling to him. He struggled to remember who it was. A hobbit, curly dark hair, large sad blue eyes…an innocent face. What was the name? What did it matter? _Of course it matters! He is counting on me. They all are._ The true Gandalf the Grey clung to the clear voice, the good voice. "Help me," he whispered.

The Ring sensed its power weakening and redoubled its efforts. Thunder pounded in his ears, and he suddenly and clearly saw the future, his future. All evil would fall if he only claimed the Ring. His kingdom would be perfection in every way. They would love him and fear him. Four hobbits flashed into his vision, but their faces were twisted with fear and revulsion, scarred with hate and terror. The Ring was angry that he saw this, realized its grip was slipping away again. They would not hate him; they would adore him. _No, the Ring's power is evil; it will eventually corrupt. _Did he not pity them? Would he not save them from certain suffering?

Yes, yes, he pitied them. The tortured Maia took no notice as Gollum crept away into the falling snow. He did not see the members of the Fellowship coming over the distant rise and dashing into the canyon. He did not see the nameless hobbit running to him. He saw only the Ring hovering above his fingers. He had to put it on, to end all the troubles. He had to bring peace to Middle Earth.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried joyously as he staggered over the top of the canyon's edge and spotted the wizard down below. "Gandalf!" Slowly Gandalf turned to face the cries, but he did not look at Frodo. He looked beyond him, far, far beyond. Frodo felt a strange shudder run through his small frame. Fear? Of what? It was Gandalf, his friend. He started to run forward to embrace his old friend, but Aragorn reached him at last and held him back.

"Stop, Frodo! Do not go near him!" The Ranger's voice trembled with fear.

"Why?" Frodo asked and took a closer look. He was quite startled and even a little afraid at what he saw. "His eyes," he whispered hoarsely. "Is that not Gandalf? The Ring has him!" He was filled with sorrow then, sorrow for that good and kindly old wizard who was his closest companion, now separated by thousands of miles in mind.

The wizard's eyes were wild white flames, liquid pools of raging emotion. Frodo saw rage, terror, pity, fear, desire, and confusion written in them for all to see. Frodo understood at last. "It calls to him. It offers what he most wants," he told Aragorn, who had no idea of the weight of that small fiery band. "Let me speak to him as one who knows." He started forward once again, and once again Aragorn pulled him back.

"Frodo, you cannot do this. He will harm anyone he perceives as a threat."

"I am not a threat," Frodo replied, shrugging off his hands. "I am his friend. Please." Pleading eyes turned upwards, and Aragorn finally nodded.

"Just…be careful. He is…not himself," he cautioned.

"I know that, more than any other." Frodo left the lean man standing to wait for the others and clambered down the steep incline. He approached slowly, hands up in a gesture of friendliness and warmth, much like a hobbit approaches a spooked pony. "Gandalf," he gently intoned. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the air felt warmer the closer he drew. "Gandalf, let us help you. Let me help you. The burden is too great."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The name…it was coming to him now…A hobbit he had cared for since the hobbit's childhood. He had cared for him, guided him. It was…

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Frodo?" the old voice of his friend broke the haze, and the eyes flickered with recognition. "You are all right?" Frodo heard an almost paternal concern, and the young hobbit was comforted.

"Yes, I am. But you are not. The Ring is calling to you, I know, Gandalf." He reached out a hand, tried to lay it on Gandalf's left arm. The wizard winced and jerked his arm away. Frodo hurriedly stepped back.

The glimpse of the old Grey Wizard vanished at the contact. "It does call me, and why should I not heed it? I could make things right." This time he focused on Frodo with a frightening intensity. There was a gleam in his eye. His voice dropped lower and took on a soothing, darkly appealing tone. "The Shire would be safe, Frodo. I could help you. You don't want the pain of dealing with this, Frodo, my friend, my dear friend. I can do it for you."

Frodo saw the sincerity in his eyes, but something else was there too. Frodo knew the true Gandalf was not talking now. The Ring was using every bit of its persuasive powers. Gandalf wanted Frodo's support, and the Ring was complying and twisting that wish to its own purposes. Frodo ignored the powerful proposal. "No, my dearest friend," he replied gently. "Come back to the truth. You know we might have peace, but at the price of our freedom, our joy, and our love. You know the Ring understands none of that. It is evil, Gandalf, and you are not. You told me it was evil, once. I know how it pulls at one, but it must be destroyed. We need your help to do this."

Gandalf laughed strangely, the Ring ridiculing the young hobbit. "You are strong, little one, but is it possible?"

"It has to be. It is our only chance. You are our only hope."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_It is our only chance._ The words fell on his ears with the force of a beautiful, blinding rainfall, dousing the flames and washing away the confusion. He could see again. _I do pity them_, he realized. _I cannot take their only hope away. _Frodo stood before him, tears in his clear eyes. Hobbits were truly amazing, and as proof, this one had just pulled him away from the brink of catastrophe. Hope radiated from the hobbit-faith, trust.

_They trust you, Olórin. I trust you. _Gandalf blinked furiously.

_Forgive me, Manwë. I have almost betrayed your trust. _

The Ring screamed in anguish when he made his decision. _You throw away their lives! _It screamed at him, tore at him with a thousand knives of regret.

_Perhaps mine as well, but not our souls. That is what counts. _He lowered the hand that held the Ring, felt the fury flowing out of him, and suddenly he was so very tired. The ache of his left hand returned, his shoulders bowed. Aloud, he softly asked, "I need your help, Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

"Anything, Gandalf."

"Take the Ring from me. Please. It is yours to safeguard." He lifted his hand to the hobbit and noticed the trembling that shook his entire arm. Open and offering, it frightened him to think how close he had come to ruining everything. Would the Valar themselves have come down to stop him?

As Frodo's hand drew near his own, he saw his fingers closing. No! He forced them open again. The Ring was lifted screaming from his palm. He watched in rigid silence as Frodo looped the Ring's chain over his neck once again. The hobbit gazed solemnly up at the wizard.

Blessed silence. The tumultuous storm had died away into a quiet, cold, delightful breeze. The Ring was no longer in his mind, filling his head with lies. It lay silent and sullen against Frodo's vest. The crushing weight was gone, and though the temptation remained, Gandalf was no longer worried. He was free. He had passed the test.

Frodo smiled at him. "I knew you could do it," he told him as they walked together back to the Fellowship.

Aragorn bowed his head as Gandalf passed, and the old wizard smiled. The king was eyeing the wizard with concern and a new-found healthy respect. _I am still me, _Gandalf wanted to tell him, but did not. Time was needed to recover from this. He would not push Aragorn to trust him again. It had to come naturally. He saw the Ranger's eyes narrow as he looked at Gandalf's left arm. The Healer was taking over.

Legolas was staring at him openly. The elf could not understand why Gandalf looked so old and worn out. He knew of Gandalf's true nature, and now Gandalf looked more like a man than ever before. _Perhaps I am,_ Gandalf thought. _I have been tried as most immortals will never comprehend. I am tainted, and now I know the danger. Is that a bad thing?_

Gimli regarded him with bare suspicion as he handed Gandalf's staff back to him. The Grey Wizard wrapped his gnarled hands around the smooth wood and nodded his thanks. The dwarf would not go quietly into the darkness. He might question Gandalf's judgment now more than ever, but the wizard wanted no other at his back in the coming fight. _He is fearless, loyal, and powerful._

Boromir refused to meet his eyes, and Gandalf feared at that. There was darkness in the Man that Gandalf now knew and clearly understood. _He thinks we are wrong to destroy the Ring. I pray he never gets the chance I was offered._

Sam…Sam had no eyes for him, only for Frodo. He had sensed a threat to his master, and now he was supporting Frodo and whispering to him. _That one is very strong, indeed. I have a feeling that much will fall to this little gardener. _

Merry was on the other side of Frodo, telling him something about a wolf, and Gandalf smiled wearily. _His determination will carry them far._

And Pippin… he could not see Pippin. For a moment, he panicked and thought of the wolves. Then there was a tug at his robes, and he looked down to see the tiny hobbit at his side. In his hands was a perfectly delectable-smelling pouch. "Sir? I thought you might like some of this Longbottom leaf. I had some extra."

_**Epilogue coming soon! Thanks for reading. I'm attempting to finish my unfinished stories this summer. Apologies for leaving anyone hanging and for any mistakes in this version checked only by myself. **_


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

"_**Then darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell…I was sent back-for a brief time, until my task is done."**_

_**-Gandalf, from The White Rider**_

He was back for real this time. The wonderful air blew around him and caressed his true form, tall and shining, no longer stooped with mortal age and pain. He felt a mild twinge of guilt for leaving his friends behind, but he had stopped the Balrog, his dark brother. If Ilúvatar had wanted him to survive in his mortal coil, surely he would have.

For now, his joy at being home overwhelmed him, and he forgot Middle Earth. He should find Manwë first, and thank him for letting him return. Valinor beckoned to him, and he sped across in shimmering form that was not held back by stride, moving faster than mortal man ever dreamed.

Up towards the great city Valmar he raced, along the shining shore of the West, reveling in the beauty of Valinor. As he passed Alqualondë, some of the elves were out on fishing boats. They saw his swift form and waved, calling his name with reverence much like his own for Manwë and Lorien. He waved back but did not stop, and he moved on towards the city.

Up through the streets he passed, swirling past the elvish maidens as they worked before their lovely homes. He entered a long green courtyard filled with breathtaking trees and flowers. The Vala Nessa was here, many elves, and even some of the Maiar, dancing an old tradition derived from the original song of Ilúvatar. He slowed to a stop and watched them, content to simply take it all in. After such a long time, it all seemed new and wonderful again, like the time he took a bath for the first time after pursuing Gollum with Aragorn, except a thousand times purer. It reminded him of the First Awakening. He chuckled and amended his thoughts: a long time as mortals reckoned. He had been in the form of Man too long; he was thinking like them.

He watched the dancers wind their way around each other with perfect rhythm, with graceful timing; he felt a large smile growing on his shining face.

"Olórin!" a cry rose from the dancers, and a Maia detached herself from the joyful throng and made her way to him. It was Ilmarë, the great handmaiden of Varda. She grabbed his hands and pulled him into the dance. "We have missed you, brother."

At first, his steps were slow with hesitation, but he soon found the rhythm. It was in him and around him and part of him, and he let himself flow freely with the others. Old Gandalf may not have acted so, but this was Olórin, a fountain of mirth and thanksgiving. Besides, Ilúvatar loved it when his creations danced their joy for him. So Olórin danced and laughed with his sister.

_So, are you here to stay?_ She asked him silently, sensing that he was still adjusting.

_I do not know, _he admitted, _but I hope so. I have missed everything so much, the peace in particular. Yet I must speak with Manwë. Do you know where he is?_

She looked over his shoulder and brightened. _He is close,_ she winked, released him, and spun back into the dance. _Welcome back, brother,_ she told him as she went.

_Thank you, my sister._ Olórin turned and spied Manwë in physical form, leaning on the courtyard wall, smiling at the joy of Valmar. The very city sang for Ilúvatar. The Maia crossed the long expanse and bowed respectfully before the head of Arda. "Is this it, my lord? I know I am truly here this time."

_Yes, you are here this time, my friend,_ Manwë replied, but he was holding something back.

Olórin was not afraid. "Do I stay?" he pressed slowly.

_The Fellowship stands on the edge of a knife. Do you want to stay? _Manwë asked in return.

Olórin puzzled over these sobering words. _In my heart have I always desired to remain here, but there is a small part of me that still wants to help my friends, _he revealed with hesitation. _They are like nothing else, and they are in dire circumstances. But is it possible to go back? I thought my body there…died._

_There is always a way with __Ilúvatar_, Manwë solemnly intoned, but then he smiled. _It may be very hard for you. You will forget much that you thought you knew, and know more that you thought you had forgotten. But it is entirely possible. _There was that tone in his voice.

Olórin sighed. _Then my task is not yet over? Somehow I knew that. It will be good to see them again. _He was now resigned to the fact that he would be going back. If it pleased Manwë and Ilúvatar, then he would go without complaint. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Strange…

Manwë laughed. _They have nestled their way into your heart. Your selfless compassion is your greatest asset. _

_And my greatest weakness, _Olórin added, and laughed with his friend.

Manwë put a hand on his shoulder. _Never lose it, Olórin. Always have room in your heart for one more creature. Now, if you are going back, it had better be soon. Your friends await you. _

Friends…Olórin pondered the word. He did truly wish to return.

_First though, you had better tell Lorien. He will be very proud of your choice._ Manwë watched as Olórin sped away. _Olórin? _The Maia turned and waited patiently. _This is the last time. When you come again, there will be no going back. _Olórin smiled gratefully, but he grew pensive.

"Now that I think on it, I believe I will miss Middle Earth," he said aloud.

Manwë snorted in exasperation. "Go on." One never appreciated what he had until he was loosing it. The confounded Maia was torn between two worlds. He followed after Olórin with much more grace and dignity. As he passed, the Maiar and the elves remaining in the courtyard paused their dance to watch. Manwë sensed their pride in their friend and brother. _Yes, they are all proud of Olórin. I am proud of him. __Ilúvatar__ is proud of him. Well done, good and faithful servant. And now you go to Middle Earth, at the turning of the tide. _

_**Finally, this one is done. I took a bit of literary license with the vagueness of what happened to Gandalf when he fell with the Balrog. Since he's not a mortal, I figured he might just as well return to his true form and place. He could have his reasons for not revealing Valinor to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. **_

_**Anyways, thanks to all who read this, and I'm sorry for not finishing earlier. The material was mostly there, I just lost the inspiration to finish it. Now it is done.**_


End file.
